


we'll meet again (in our house in the meadows)

by LeddyMirth, TheOtherBucket



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst and Tragedy, Assisted Suicide, Blood and Violence, Character Death, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Deviates From Canon, Established Relationship, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Sad Ending, Tragic Romance, Whump, Whumptober 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:48:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27011527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeddyMirth/pseuds/LeddyMirth, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheOtherBucket/pseuds/TheOtherBucket
Summary: “It wasn’t supposed to be this way.” His voice was quiet, far away. “It wasn’t supposed to end like this. We were winning.”The war is coming to a close. Enbarr is burning, and as the Kingdom army breaks down the palace gates Hubert and Ferdinand return to the throne room to make their last stand— together.
Relationships: Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 26
Kudos: 102
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	we'll meet again (in our house in the meadows)

**Author's Note:**

> This is a slightly canon-divergent Azure Moon where Ferdinand survived the battle of Myrddin. 
> 
> Written for Whumptober Days 10 and 19: Blood Loss and Grief

The screams of the wounded and dying below faded as he ran, the smoke clearing the further he retreated from the front lines. The order to fall back and defend the throne had been given as soon as Hubert had laid eyes on her— flanked by the mad king himself and sword curled into a whip as they cut through what remained of the Imperial Army. It had mattered little; his troops were overwhelmed in moments and Hubert slipped away with a vanguard of the Kingdom’s forces at his back.

He could hear Ferdinand’s ragged breathing behind him— _thank the Goddess, he was still alive_ — as they ascended to the battlements of the palace, the quickest route to the throne room without detection. Hubert took the uneven stone steps two at a time, his path lit by the orange glow of the fires consuming the city he called home.

“Listen to me, Ferdinand,” Hubert said, turning to grab him by the arms once they were safely above the fray, eyes pleading. “You must retreat while there's still time.”

Ferdinand crossed his arms in indignation. “You expect me to turn tail and leave you and Edelgard behind? No! Absolutely not! We make our last stand. Together.”

Hubert growled his frustration, fingers digging into the torn sleeves of Ferdinand’s uniform. He glanced over his shoulder, listening for any indication that the palace had been breached but hearing only the faraway shrieks of the dying. “Please, can you not swallow your damnable pride this once! I didn’t save you at Myrddin only to have you fall here. Both of us don’t have to die today!”

“No,” Ferdinand snapped, all damnable stubbornness. “I am staying. Can you not see that I would rather die by your side than live a life without you?”

“Ferdinand…” Hubert said, releasing him with a shaky breath and a bitter smile, turning to inspect the devastation below. He could not see Byleth or Dimitri anymore; no doubt they would break through at any moment.

“Please, do not ask me to retreat again. You have my answer.”

Hubert quietly seethed, knuckles white as he gripped the stone wall. But he would not ask again— a small, selfish part of him was glad of Ferdinand’s unwavering loyalty. To the Empire. To Her Majesty. To him.

“It wasn’t supposed to be this way.” His voice was quiet, far away. “It wasn’t supposed to end like this. We were _winning_.” _Where had he gone wrong?_ All his months, _years_ , of planning, of subterfuge to assure any outcome other than this... yet here they stood, the world burning below them and death closing in on all sides.

“At least we are facing this together.” Ferdinand joined him at the edge of the wall and gently covered one of Hubert’s hands with his own. “Do you think she is still the Edelgard we once knew?” he asked, voice low.

Hubert struggled to keep his expression guarded. Transforming herself into that… _creature_ had always been a last resort, spoken of only in hushed whispers behind closed doors. It was not a fate Hubert had assumed to be inevitable and he had worked tirelessly to prevent it. Her Majesty had assured him it was likely not permanent, but the thought of her condemned to such a form because of his shortcomings turned his stomach.

In the end, he’d had no choice but to relent and the preparations had been made. And it seemed the moment was upon them— the fate of not just Her Majesty but all of Fódlan balanced on a razor’s edge.

Hubert let the tense silence linger between them a moment longer before he spoke. “I believe her to be, yes. I am willing to be optimistic for the moment— and that terrible form may yet save our lives.”

“I hope there is truth to that.”

“Whether there is truth or not it doesn’t matter. I will not stray from my duty.”

“I know. That is why it is futile to ask _you_ to retreat.”

Hubert laced their fingers together and gave Ferdinand’s hand a knowing squeeze, gaze straying from the chaos below to their entwined hands, coated in layers of blood and grime. He jumped back and pulled his hand free when a thunderous _boom_ resounded from below. The stone walls rumbled and loose gravel shifted about as if an earthquake had passed underfoot.

A battering ram.

“They’re breaking through the palace gates… come, we must return to Her Majesty.” Hubert ran as another shockwave rattled the foundations of the palace, knowing Ferdinand was at his heels without having to look.

They crashed through the enormous wooden doors to find the room tense but untouched. Hubert froze for a heartbeat, eyes drawn to the immense figure in front of the throne. His heart lurched to see her this way. She was… inhuman was not quite the word. Her face was the only part of her still her own, though marred by corrupted black scales that crept up her cheeks to blood-red eyes. She was something in between, twisted by the power of her crests into a creature of pure power and rage. Her eyes burned with fury and she seemed to stare straight through him. Hubert wondered if she still recognized him.

He recovered himself, jaw set with grim determination, and they took their place at Her Majesty’s side— Hubert at her right, Ferdinand her left. If Ferdinand was unsettled by her appearance then he put on a remarkable show of neutrality, readying his lance without question.

“Thank you for joining me. You will both live to see my vision or lay down your lives for its cause. Either way, they have no hope of defeating me. I assure you, they will pay for their recklessness with despair and bemoan the day they chose to raise their weapons against the Adrestian Empire!” Though it was still her voice, the timbre of it had changed. She was… single-minded, lacking her usual warm encouragements or reassurances. Not that Hubert required any such thing, but the difference was stark.

_What had they done to her?_

He would have to ask the hard questions later. There was a sound like a stampede of thundering hooves growing louder by the moment; too loud to be a small strike force, it seemed the professor had gathered every available body before mounting her final assault. Hubert barked his orders as Her Majesty’s personal guards surrounded the door, shields and lances at the ready.

Her Majesty’s voice reverberated throughout the entire room and not a soul was unaffected by the unsettling way her presence seemed to fill every corner. “These fools are caught up in the sacrifices that are at hand and can't see the future ramifications at stake. We must bury them! We must trample the past underfoot and move on to a brighter tomorrow!”

The stampede drew nearer, and now the sound of steel plate clanking could be heard above the din. With one last glance at Ferdinand, who nodded his acknowledgment, Hubert steadied his breathing until he could feel the magic sparking to life like lightning in his veins. His hands glowed a faint iridescent purple and a spell crackled to life between his fingertips.

There was no turning back now.

The door burst open to reveal Byleth, Dimitri, and half a dozen or so people Hubert recognized from the Officer’s Academy. Immediately behind the vanguard force were an untold number of enlisted soldiers. Ferdinand met his gaze and when their eyes locked time seemed to dilate, a single heartbeat pulsing in his ears for minutes. Hubert blinked and the room erupted into chaos.

There was no plan anymore. The professor and her rabid dog had seen to that, cutting a path straight through the sentries at the door. Anyone unfortunate enough to be standing in her way was tossed aside like a child’s plaything or sliced cleanly in two, dead before they hit the floor. She moved like a demon— _fitting_ , he chuckled darkly to himself— decimating everything in her path. She shouted a command and her team split up, Dedue disappearing into the shadows along the wall.

_Oh, no you don’t._

Hubert dodged a lance thrust at his face, keeping an eye on the spot where Dedue had broken away from the rest. When none of his men pursued, Hubert lunged forward and vanished in a flash of violet light, rematerializing in the deepest shadows of the room mere feet in front of the giant of a man.

Dedue stopped, raising his shield and gripping his sword a little tighter. He glanced past Hubert to where Her Majesty held the attention of nearly everyone else in the room.

“Move,” Dedue growled.

“You really thought it would be that simple?” Hubert laughed, magic thrumming in his veins.

He squared his shoulders. It was just the two of them in this dark little corner, shielded from the chaos as if by magic. Hubert took a step forward, grinning when Dedue did not flinch. Violet fire flared to life in the palm of his hand and he took advantage of Dedue’s hesitation, firing off a fierce blast of miasma.

The shield flew up, taking the full force of the blow only for the spell to disperse harmlessly around the ornate curved metal. So they had come prepared.

Dedue braced himself and swung the sword forward in a low arc. Hubert vaulted back, barely dodging having his kneecaps carved open.

An unearthly scream rang out and Hubert’s blood turned to ice. Her Majesty.

He grit his teeth and in the same moment he righted himself and flicked his wrist, a spike of dark magic exploding from the floor beneath Dedue’s feet. Armor pierced, Dedue crumpled, pinned to the wall by the quickly dematerializing spell. Blood pooled at his lips and he did not stir.

Hubert pivoted on his heel and ran. The scene before him was nightmarish: Byleth and Dimitri having backed Her Majesty into a corner, her monstrous form screeching and writhing under the weight of their combined assault. The Sword of the Creator glowed a fiendish red, its ghoulishness enhanced by the blood pooling between its bony segments.

Dimitri lunged to strike at a section of Her Majesty’s armor that had been chipped away. Hubert called on every ounce of magic left in him as he ran, the distance between them never seeming to shrink. Ferdinand was nowhere to be found, but he had no choice but to hope that if he hindered Dimitri’s movement enough, it might give Her Majesty a fighting chance.

With a shout, Hubert unleashed a swirling vortex of dark energy. Tortured, twisted faces formed out of the mist and emitted a shrieking noise that only grew in volume as the spell gained traction, bearing down on Dimitri.

Before it could connect and disable its target, it vaporized and Hubert pitched forward.

Pain, sharp and throbbing and all-consuming, bloomed in his abdomen and his eyes went wide. He choked on his next breath, a bitter, metallic taste bubbling in the back of his throat.

“I will not allow you to harm His Highness,” came a deep voice from behind him at the same moment the sword was pulled free of his stomach.

Hubert staggered forward, a hand held to his side failing to staunch the bleeding. His gloves were dyed crimson in moments and blood, _his blood_ , ran hot and sticky between his fingers, pooling on the ground before him.

He glanced around the room once more, willing his eyes to focus through the pain, but there was not so much as a glimpse of an ally nearby. It seemed Byleth had commanded her officers to act as a diversion, allowing her and Dimitri to break through to the real target.

A deep, shuddering breath. Warmth spreading from his side down his leg. He had to _move_.

Hubert lunged forward, his rapidly blurring vision trained on Her Majesty, concealed dagger in hand and already slick with his blood. He managed two agonising steps before pain lanced through his skull like lightning, vision going black as the floor hurtled towards him.

* * *

_“Hubert.”_

Hubert’s eyes opened slowly at the sound of Ferdinand’s voice. A gentle nudge to his shoulder jostled him the rest of the way to consciousness, though his mind remained blanketed in a thick fog and the back of his head was tender where it rested against the wall.

He reached out to touch Ferdinand, wishing to reassure himself that it was truly him here and not the product of a dying man’s imagination.

“What happened?” he rasped, a bloodied, gloved finger tracing Ferdinand’s jaw when his vision began to stabilize. “Where are we?”

“I saw you fall – _Ack!”_ —Ferdinand doubled over, breaths coming in pained little gasps— “I… could not bear… to leave you. When I saw you were still alive I carried you as far as I could.”

When his eyes had adjusted to the dark, Hubert saw it. The flagstone floor stained red— streaks of crimson leading down the hall and around the corner. Ferdinand lay sprawled against the wall next to him, their shoulders touching. It was clear by the way he held himself— eyes squeezed shut, mouth twisted into a grimace, breathing ragged— that every word, every breath, caused him pain.

Hubert wiped a trickle of blood from the corner of Ferdinand’s mouth— the small, tender gesture a monumental effort. Blood pooled between Ferdinand’s fingertips, flowing freely from a gaping hole in his side. With a frown, Hubert felt for his own wound. He hissed when two fingers found the raw edge of where the sword had been ripped free of his flesh, but the bleeding had largely ceased.

“Don’t tell me you used the last of your healing magic on…” He grimaced, already knowing the truth. Wounds like that did not stop bleeding of their own accord. “Ferdinand, you _fool!_ ”

Ferdinand smiled, pained and prideful. “If I am a fool for halting your bleeding - _ah!_ \- then I accept the title gladly.”

Hubert clenched his teeth and slumped back against the wall in defeat. “What of Lady Edelgard?”

“I am sorry, Hubert,” he paused to catch his breath once more, “Edelgard... she did not make it.”

Hubert’s eyes slipped closed and he huffed a pained, sardonic laugh. It hadn’t been enough. Nothing they’d done had been enough. Bitter, metallic bile was swallowed back down again. He had failed. Worse, he had abandoned her in her final moments. Had she been human at the end? The whip-like Sword of the Creator wrapped around her small frame as she stoically faced her fate? Or had her new form persisted— slowly chipped away until nothing remained but ash?

“Let me see your wound,” he said to interrupt his spiraling thoughts. Hubert marshalled his strength to nudge Ferdinand’s hands aside, only to have his fears confirmed. His breath caught; what at first had appeared to be a _bad_ wound, once the tatters of his uniform were pulled aside, was now obviously a _fatal_ one. Blood spurted from a deep, jagged slice through his abdomen, flesh separated and angry. A lance? No, perhaps an axe. It did not matter— it was astonishing he’d made it as far as he had, and _carrying_ him...

“I… am not going to last much longer. Please forgive me, Hubert…”

“There is nothing to forgive.” His tone was clipped, and Hubert resumed his position against the wall, ignoring the stinging at the corner of his eyes.

“The palace has fallen… the enemy will be upon us shortly,” Ferdinand said, trying to hold back his grief. “You conserved a warp spell, yes? For Edelgard? Please... take us somewhere quiet.”

 _To die,_ was what he was saying.

“You are half correct,” Hubert said with a wince, not caring to explain what he meant as a flare of violet warp magic took form around them. _I kept it aside for you, you idiot._

The infirmary was the first destination in mind. There was a slim chance Ferdinand could be saved with immediate attention and a slew of experienced healers. But Hubert knew war, knew the tactical advantages of securing such places first. Warping there would be akin to throwing themselves to the wolves.

There was only one location that made sense.

“Our room,” Ferdinand muttered as they materialised into what Hubert could only describe as _home_. The relief to find it untouched by the battle was without equal.

“Yes… I couldn’t think of a better place.”

“It is perfect.”

They collapsed on the bed, lying together in silence for a moment, their blood staining the immaculate bedding. Ferdinand’s eyes were closed and Hubert gingerly twined their fingers together, his every movement wracked with pain. So this was where it ended, then. Before it could even start, in some ways. They had put off so much for the sake of Fódlan. He supposed he should be grateful they would be able to spend their final moments together, and that neither of them would be cursed with a life without the other. He gave Ferdinand’s hand a gentle, but defiant, squeeze.

Then he remembered. With his free hand, he fished through his uniform jacket until he produced a small metal container. It rattled faintly in his hand and Hubert removed a small, chalky pill before clicking the lid closed again and setting the container aside. There was one more thing he could do for Ferdinand.

The pill was small, discreet. Standard issue for all of his spies should the situation ever become so dire as to necessitate taking one’s life. Swift. Painless, like slipping into a pleasant dream.

“A small mercy,” he said, placing the pill in Ferdinand’s hand and curling his fingers around it. “Far better than suffering through that wound.”

“How long will it take?”

“Not long.”

“What of you?”

“I have one for myself, but I will not take it while you still draw breath. I’ll be here with you” —he could barely muster his next words, his voice in danger of breaking— “until the end.”

“Thank you, Hubert,” Ferdinand said, closing his eyes and swallowing the pill, tears running down his cheeks like glistening rivulets, mixing with the blood and ash. There was no question Ferdinand knew that the wound was terminal. The sweat upon his brow and badly contained grimaces of pain spoke more than words. It was a far gentler fate then slowly bleeding out and gritting through the agony. It was the least he could do for him, and he deserved so much more.

Ferdinand scooted closer, reaching for him and any comfort he could provide. He touched their foreheads together and gave his hand another affectionate squeeze.

“I am glad” —Ferdinand clenched his teeth through the pain— “that you are here with me. At the end.”

Hubert pressed their head together harder, his mind reaching for anger as his body failed. “You should have fled! Flames, Ferdinand! Why must you always be so fucking obstinate! If— if it wasn’t for your utter, senseless insolence you wouldn’t be—”

“—Here with you? I made the right choice, and - _ah!_ \- I have no regrets... dying with the man I love.”

Ferdinand’s words cut deeper than the wound at his side and Hubert took a deep, shuddering breath, cheeks hot and tears threatening to spill over. He couldn’t let his last memories be of anger.

“I love you too. More than you know.”

With a grunt of pain, Hubert shifted to bring their lips together. Softly, gently, and tinged with the bitter aftertaste of blood. Ferdinand’s lips were still somehow so soft and he trembled beneath Hubert’s touch.

“To think we have such little time left for each other… I wanted” —Ferdinand flinched— “a future with you.”

This room, nestled deep in the Imperial palace, had been Hubert’s alone once. He had believed, so very foolishly, that he had needed nothing more than his privacy and his devotion to Lady Edelgard. It was theirs now, given freely and shared gladly. Ferdinand had left his mark in almost every perceptible way, from the long red hairs Hubert would find shedded at the dressing table every morning to the way he so haphazardly slung his jacket over the chair next to the fireplace. What had once been just a room, functional yet soulless, Ferdinand had made a home.

In this very bed, they had shared everything: their bodies, their minds and aspirations— how happy they had been together… how hopeful for their future.

_The future._

He could swallow it. The rage, the desperation, the despair. If only to bring Ferdinand comfort in his last moments.

“I recall that idea you had,” he said when Ferdinand had been quiet too long, “the one about building a house in the meadows. You went through every detail with me right here… from the wood of the stables to the flowers you’d plant in the garden,” he croaked as the tears began to fall, a genuine smile on his face.

“Yes… I remember…” Ferdinand replied, drowsiness lacing his voice.

“I was thinking about how… lovely it sounds. It’s been on my mind a lot recently.”

Ferdinand closed his eyes and Hubert’s heart leapt. His grip was getting weaker and weaker. He was losing him.

“Ferdinand.” Hubert squeezed his hand, a reminder, a plea.

“Still here,” Ferdinand replied after a painfully long silence, voice barely above a whisper, “the pain is leaving me... tell me more.”

“W-we could escape… settle somewhere peaceful and build a new life together.”

“I _want_ that,” he mumbled into the bloodied pillow.

 _Was that a smile?_ Hubert stilled, calling on the last of his strength to keep talking.

“We could get married,” he choked, “have that extravagant, beautiful wedding you always wanted.”

Ferdinand’s response was nothing but a heavy, comforted breath.

Hubert kept going, half-sobbing, finding himself unable to stop, “Then build that house in the meadows together… I- I will make breakfast for you when you wake. We’ll have tea and coffee in the garden and watch the sunset each day. Go riding together when the weather is nice… we… I…“ Hubert’s voice strained as the lump in his throat grew tighter and tighter. “I will write you letters every day telling you how much I _love you_ – and how _proud_ I am to have you by my side. Ferdinand I…”

When Ferdinand didn’t respond, Hubert stilled, his grip on his hand loosening. It fell to the bed, limp, and Hubert felt his heart stop.

“Ferdinand…?”

He was gone.

A sob tore itself from his throat and he cupped his lover’s face, pushing a tendril of wet, blood-stained hair behind his ear. Even like this, still and breathless in death, he was radiant.

“We’ll meet again, my love, in our house in the meadows.” He placed a trembling kiss upon Ferdinand’s still-warm lips, sealing his words in a desperate promise. He would have given anything to feel Ferdinand feed his fingers through his hair again, to have him come back from death and embrace him with his warmth and light that could chase away all misery.

“I pray you’ll forgive me for lying to you when we next meet,” he laughed, the madness setting in. “I gave you the only pill...”

The sound of the conflict drew near, now audible over the rush of blood in his ears, like a rolling tempest ready to storm their little fortress. Hubert knew he would not last the night without a healer. When he would inevitably be found, he only hoped that the professor shared his idea of mercy and would allow him to join Ferdinand before too long.

As he resigned himself to his fate, he buried his face in Ferdinand’s hair and idly wondered what would become of his, _their_ bodies. Would the professor look fondly on her old students and bury them next to each other in unmarked graves? Or were they destined for a funeral pyre with the hundreds of others the war had claimed this night?

Ferdinand's beautiful red hair was splayed over the pillow as if he were merely asleep. Messy. Perfect. The orange of the fires ravaging the city lit up the room as if it were dawn, and for a grief-stricken moment Hubert pretended that it was just another day, waking up next to the man he loved.

He closed his eyes as the sound of boots grew closer.

**Author's Note:**

> We'd like to offer a box of tissues for surviving this. We certainly needed them to finish writing it.


End file.
